


the gift of death

by wisperia



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: American English, BAMF Harry Potter, Currently at first year, Dark Gray!Harry, Death is a friend, Dumbledore Bashing, Gratuitously Hot Voldemort, M/M, Manipulation, Master of Death Harry Potter, MoD! Harry, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Selective Weasley Bashing, Voldemort is an idiot, because why not, no, so is Harry, this isn't crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-27 15:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30124623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisperia/pseuds/wisperia
Summary: Harry really just wants to stay in Avalon forever, researching and experimenting with different types of magic. Unfortunately for him, even after some polite protests (from his part) an epic saga cut unfortunately short (Death is a good story teller, apparently), the friendly neighborhood universal forces get distinct sadistic glee over ruining his not-retirement. And thus Harry sets out to ruin Dumbledore (because this one's rude) and capture the interest of a few Dark Lords along the way.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	1. prologue: unfixable

prologue: unfixable

Harry sighs, looking around at the destruction. “Ade, are you sure that I can fix this? It seems pretty unfixable. And that I can come out of..” He flounders for a word, ignoring the screams of those around him. You got used to it after a while, and learned to tune them out.

His companion speaks up. “Yes, Hadrian, I think you can.” Ade—or, as they’re more commonly known as, Death—sighs as their reapers rush around, escorting souls as needed. “And don’t worry, you’ll be able to go back into retirement when you want—” They pause, and move to the side with Harry as a building collapses where they were.

“I’m not in—” He flushes, and looks away. “I’m not old enough to be retired, Ade. I’m only, what, 653? You’re—what, 13, 14 billion years old?”

“14,679,654,003 this coming Saturday, actually.” They grin at Harry, “And you're several lifetimes older than any mortal. I think you’ve earned your retirement and senior citizen benefits several dozen times over.” 

Harry sighs, and looks around. “What happened anyways? Last I heard from this universe, the Here-Me was drugged to the gills with love potions and compulsions. Why should I help this world? Where even are we?” His emerald eyes glance around, and his magic tests the air and their coordinates. “Oh, ew, radiation.” He shudders, withdrawing his magic back into him, and layering his masks back.

Ade rolls his silver eyes. “Honestly, you’d think you would’ve kept up on the world news.”

“I was in Avalon! They don’t exactly deliver the Times—”

“A few months after Tom was defeated, one of his followers escaped from Azkaban. One Antonin Dolohov? Anyways, he had an Animagus form—an alligator, if you’ll believe it; the funniest thing was that it had the Dark Mark on it’s forehead instead of it’s arm—” Ade chuckles a bit, remembering what it looked like, “—Anyways, eventually he accidentally transformed in Times square—”

Harry snaps his fingers, “That’s where we are!” 

“Yes, great deduction skills. Anyways, it was caught on cameras, and it got spread around. Eventually, he was captured, and Magic was discovered.” Ade pauses again as their—sibling? He wasn’t entirely sure—walked up to them. A direct contrast to Ade’s silver, gray, and black monotone, she—they? Universal forces and pronouns had a confusing relationship—she walked up to them, dressed in golds and purples and blues, with one golden eye and one black. She grinned.

“Hello, Harry!” Taika—Magic herself—said, waving, “You’ve grown up!”

Ade sighed, and continued, “To make a long and confusing saga short, essentially they became hellbent on killing all magical beings, specifically with nukes. However, this quickly went badly, and Magicals developed semi-resistant wards to keep out radiation. I say semi, as they didn’t keep out the blast—it was close enough. The Muggles are all currently dying of ashes and radiation sickness. Magicals are all dead from the boom of the bombs. Or most, anyways; it’s hard to tell.”

Harry sighs, turning to Death. “And what do you want me to do about it? Go back in time?”

Ade rolls their eyes, and adjusts their crown—made from white lilies and black roses, and silvered thorns—sighing in discontent. “Actually, yes. When Aroa gets here, we’re going to bribe her with her favorite chocolates.” At his incredulous stare at Death, they shift. “We all like chocolate. Mortals have ruined us!” As Harry continues to stare, they sigh in discontent. “I like chocolate covered cherries, Taika likes sea-salt caramel, covered with dark chocolate, with sea salt sprinkled on top, and Aroa likes Snickers bars. She also likes the matcha flavored chocolates, so I got her a gift basket composed of those two.”

Harry shakes his head, chuckling. “Alright. What age will my body look, and when are you sending me back? Where should I get my wand?” He looks down on his 17-year-old body, turning to Death. “Will I stay seventeen? Or will I deage? Age? Give me some details, please.”

“Well, it’s part of the surprise.” Taika says, grinning at Harry.

He sighs, and turns as an older woman approaches them, dressed smartly in a business suit. “I presume you’re Aroa?” He asks, kissing the back of her hand when it’s proffered to him. Really, couldn’t they be more subtle about their names? Not that he was complaining; he didn’t want to call them Magic, Time, and Death; but their names—except for Death’s—all meant roughly what they were. Aroa meant—roughly—era, age, and time. Ade meant crown. And Taika means magic, or spell.

Really, really subtle, the forces of the universe weren’t.

“What do you want, Ade?” Aroa asked, seeming bored.

“Well, I was thinking we could send Hadrian here back in time..to prevent the end of the world. Of course, there are two options; way back or just back?”

“Just back. If that doesn’t work, then we send him way back.” Taika says, getting nods of approval from the other two.

“And why should I help you?” Aroa asks, blinking at him. “I have no incentive. Time lasts for more than just this world.

“Because I brought you Snickers, and some matcha chocolate.” Ade says, innocently.

“Deal.”

“Alright, shall we get started?” Death asks, and grins. They slam their heel into the ground, and nothing seems to form. Magic comes forward, and rests her hand on Harry’s head. “I give you my gift. May you use it wisely.”

A warm feeling blankets him, making him smile. “Thank you, Lady Taika.”

“I give you my gift.” Death rests their hand on Harry’s head, and a brisk wind sweeps through him.

“Thank you, Ade.’’

“You will receive my gift when the time is right.” Aroa says, munching on a Snickers bar.

Ade positions Harry in the center of the ouroboros, and then begins to chant, “Tempus: meo audire vocationem. Mitte ad me potestates: Soror mea est scriptor vires, et animae suae is tergum in vicis et in ruina eius ne orbis terrarum, et ne morte omnium. Tempus: meo audire vocationem; mitteret ad Hadrian James Potter-Black-Peverell-Gryffindor-Slytherin origine animae ad locum suum. Tempus, vocationem audi me, et det mihi velle meum.”

“I agree with this.” Aroa says, smiling at Harry.

A golden light shines from around the city, spinning to envelope Harry in a golden cocoon, seemed to be made of hundreds of thousands of individual strands, each coming from a different person, all of them dropping instantly—

He drifts back….back...back..back back back backbackbackback—

And then he lurches to a stop.


	2. chapter one; the golden gates of home {year one - summer part one}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry begins to get set up, and tries to remember what happened in his first year. Can you really blame him? It's been a few centuries....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a new chapter! i only have the next chapter written out; after that, updates will be sporadic, but i might have a bunch to upload at once?? here's to hoping i guess

**chapter one: the golden gates of home {year 1: the summer, part one}**

_ A golden light shines from around the city, spinning to envelope Harry in a golden cocoon, seemed to be made of hundreds of thousands of individual strands, each coming from a different person, all of them dropping instantly— _

_ He drifts back….back...back..back back back backbackbackback— _

_ And then he lurches to a stop. _

Harry suddenly lurches to a stop, his vision coming back moments later. He sits in the middle of a smoldering forest, the trees bent outwards from his impact into the ground. He flicks his hand, casting the Tempus spell nonverbally and wandlessly. 

_ Monday; July 1st, 1991 _

_ 10:31 am _

He hums and casts another spell, this one to tell him where he was, in relation to a point of his choosing. He selected Potter Manor, as he assumes his ten-year-old self would have disappeared from wherever he was in the past when he appeared, therefore it made sense for him to (eventually) be revealed as living in Potter Manor. He’d have to ask the Goblins for help, but they were always happy to help him, and he would have to change some memories, but overall his plan was sound..

“ _ Point me, Potter Manor.. _ ” He murmured, picking up a twig from the forest floor. It spun around, and then pointed towards the old family manor. The only reason this spell would work was because he was of Potter family blood; otherwise, it would’ve gone haywire.

Despite what Dumbledore had told him, Harry knew that the manor hadn’t been damaged during the war; it was nigh on impossible to get into a Pureblood’s Ancestral Manor, as the building was coated in so many wards that the ambient magic felt like amber, or molasses. It was why an underage wizard could cast magic with a wand there—there was too much interference that the Ministry brushed it off as the ambient magic of the home.

It was approaching noon when Harry finally reached the gates of the manor. They appeared to be a shining gold color, watched over by two (stone) griffins, who were perched atop a steep wall. Instead of the gothic gate and fence of the Malfoy (or Black) manor, the Potter’s had a white-washed stone wall, with cream-colored bricks. Ivy had grown on it’s walls however, Harry did not climb it for fear that something would eat him. As he was contemplating how to get into the manor, one of the cream-colored stone griffins suddenly yawns, it’s eagle-like head turning to the last Potter. It blinks, and spreads it’s wings, leaping off of it’s perch with it’s strong leonine back legs.

A house elf appeared, her ocean blue eyes widening in shock. “M-Master?” She asked, her magic recognizing him as her master, because he is the last of the Potter’s. She was wearing a dark crimson outfit, with the Potter family crest (a roaring griffon, with the words  _ Sol ille arbitrium sempre ascendo adversus ille tenebræ _ under it) stitched in gold. “I is being Adara. Who is you?” The griffin flies back, and settles back to watching the golden gate.

Harry chuckles, and prepares to tell her his full name, “I am your new master, yes. My full name—with titles—is Heir Hadrian James Potter-Black-Peverell-Gryffindor-Slytherin. I have a few other titles, but they aren’t really important.” He feels a vaguely offended feeling from Ade, because he listed Master of Death as ‘not really important.’  _ ‘Stuff it, you presumptuous git—I don’t want to overwhelm the poor thing!’ _ He gets a feeling of amusement, before they move away, focusing on something else.

Adara nodded, seemingly proud of having someone like him as her new master. “If Master bes following me, I will take you into the Manor.”

Harry nods, opening the gate after allowing an Unlocking Charm to flow through his fingers. He pulls it open, noting how it doesn’t creak as it opens. “I see that you’ve been taking care of the place.” He notes, a pleased note entering his voice.

Adara nods. “I is the Head Elf’s assistant. Normally the Lord commands the Head Elf, and I fall under the Heir’s purview. But because you is the only Potter left, Chrysantha will be your personal elf.” She looks at him, her eyes wide. “Should I calls the other elves? The Head elves, not all of them!” She hastens to say, blinking.

_ There are probably too many to call all at once. _ “Yes, Adara, that would be appreciated, thank you.”

She nods. “I will bes doing that once I gets you to the Master study.”

The house elf leads him through a maze of hallways, with Adara pointing out various rooms. The house seemed to be decorated in a mix of cherry wood and honey oak, with darker stones creating a stunning contrast. The rugs and walls weren’t all Gryffindor colors (if they were, Harry thought he might riot); more often than not, they were neutral colors which added to the nice decor.

Overall, it was a nice Manor for a nice family.

When they reached the study, Adara pulled out the chair, and then popped off, leaving Harry alone. When he was trekking through the woods, he hadn’t hadthe time to fully examine his body. He took a few moments to, after sitting in the chair. Based on his size, he seems to be  _ this _ world’s eleven-year-old Harry Potter, meaning that he could count his ribs, and had an alarming number of injuries.

One by one, a few house-elves popped in. There were 5, and they were all dressed in the same uniform as Adara. Harry smiled at Adara, who stood next to one of the elves, who looked older than the rest. “Hello. I am Heir Potter, and you may address me as Master Harry, or Master Hadrian, whichever you prefer. As the previous Lord Potter—my father, may magic carry him to the next life soon—passed away..9 years ago?” He shrugs, and glances at each of them. “I will be taking ownership of the household, even though I am young, you may have noticed that I am rather mature for my age. I would like you to each introduce yourself, and your job titles.”

The oldest elf bows, and she announces herself. “I am known as Crysantha, master Hadrian. I am the Head Elf, and your personal elf.”

Adara bows too. “I is known as Adara, master Harry! I am the Head Elf’s assistant.”

Another elf bows. “I am called Prasad, master Harry. I am the head of the cooks.”

The fourth elf inclines his head. “I am Chika, master Hadrian. I am the head of the gardeners.”

Finally, the last elf introduces herself. “And I am Reina, and I am the head of the rest of the household.”

Harry inclines his head. “It is good to meet you all. I have all of you—and your elves—to thank for the amazing condition Potter manor is in I believe. I will be staying until I go to Hogwarts, and come back every summer. I will ask for you to also keep the manor in pristine condition, although I ask that if you see a giant pile of parchment on my desk, that you leave it alone.” He claps. “Now, I would like to speak to Crysantha about some family matters, if you will.” 

The other elves pop out, and Adara lingers for a moment, before popping out. “What can I do for the young master?” She asks, and Harry sighs. 

“I need the book on alliances and enemies, please. I also must go out sometime soon, and get both a custom wand and a new wardrobe, as well as a few other things. “Do you know a custom wand shop?” He asks, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t like being disarmed; as his current Magical Guardian, Dumbledore could, in theory, Apparate through the wards, and take Harry away. He’d have to go to Gringotts too... 

“Yes, master Hadrian. There is Sawyer and Carver Wands, Holsters, and Staffs, on Eaton Downs.” She gives him a look. “It is not proper to get a wand from there before Ollivander’s or your Hogwarts letter.”

He groans inwardly, and stares at her. “I’ll...let you in on a small secret. I don’t care about propriety—my magical guardian left me with Mundan— _ Muggles _ , and they treated me worse than a house elf. But because he’s my magical guardian, he can force me back there. I want to defend myself.”

Crysantha hesitates, before nodding, “Yes, young master. I understand now.”

“Alright, great. Before we do that... I need to go over the alliances and enemies.” He grimaces as she pops off, only to come back with a tome as large as his arm and as thick as his head. He settles in for a long read, before remembering he needs parchment and a quill, to take notes. Harry turns to Crysantha, “I..you wouldn’t happen to know where some parchment and some ink is, would you?”

She blinks at him, and opens the first drawer of the desk. He nods, and thanks her, and begins to take notes, his emerald eyes flicking over the page.

He groans again when he realizes just how small the writing is...

**…:...:...**

A few days later, after studying both the Potter’s Book of Allies and Enemies and exploring his family manor, he was finally finished with reviewing everything. He’d taken Slytherin off the Enemies list—it was counterproductive; he was the Heir and would be the Lord of Slytherin, unless Tom regained his sanity, in which case he’d give it back—and discovered quite a few dormant marriage contracts, which he would stricken off. (Was stricken even a word? Harry didn’t know, but it sounded good--)

He’d also contacted Death, and wrangled out the interesting tidbit that because he was Master of Death, he couldn’t be considered underage, and technically had gotten his Majority. It was, apparently, similar to the Triwizard Tournament freeing him in his past life—but now he knew about it. Harry didn’t tell this to Crysantha, so she wouldn’t think it was ‘improper,’ getting a wand before his Hogwarts letter arrived.

Harry had also, after many hours of reading through several dozen books on flooing, managed to change the password to the floo. It was amazing, and it worked.

He flicked his hand, casting the Tempus charm.

_ Tuesday; July 9th, 1991 _

_ 11:47 pm _

“Chrysantha!” He calls, reclining in the cherry wood chair in the master study (at least, as much as he can). The house elf pops in after a moment, and she bows to Harry.

“Young master, what can I do for you?”

“I believe that I am finally ready to go get robes, and a wand. Perhaps some more books as well; basic ones..” Harry hums, and then blinks out of his thoughts. “Is there anywhere to eat lunch in Diagon?”

“Yes, master Hadrian. There is many restaurants on Eaival Corner, a side alley off of Diagon.”

“Where would you recommend me for a casual lunch or dinner?” He asks, blinking.  _ How many side alleys are there? _

“Alvis’ Barn, master Hadrian. It has better food than the Leaky Cauldron, and isn’t a hub of pureblood supremacy.”

Harry nods, and then holds his hand out. “Aging potion, please.”

The house-elf eyes him with disdain, but hands him the aging potion, as per his request. It was an odd thing; the color was somewhere between red and yellow, but not quite orange, either. It smelled like mulled wine and fire whiskey, two of the prominent ingredients of this particular batch. Of course, vanilla and honey had been added, to cover the taste of the alcohol. It was..ingenious.

He drank it, grimacing when the fire whiskey still burned it’s way down his throat anyways. He hated fire whiskey; he preferred sweeter a alcohol, if he had any at all. Of course, a good summerwine—made by house-elves—was his favorite, but it was difficult to get your hands on a house-elf brewer. Perhaps he should look into trainers..

As Harry was lost in thought, his body changed, growing taller. He now had a rough—but sharp—jawline, with emerald eyes gleaming from behind the curtain of raven-colored hair. His scar was hidden, he noticed as he looked into the mirror beside his desk, he could bring himself to be thankful for it. Now he wouldn’t have a crowd of gawkers.

Today wasn’t the first official debut of the Boy-Who-Lived, but his guardian, a long-lost Potter. His name in public was Halcyone Saul Reeves. This persona would unravel soon, but for now it was important. Today in Gringotts he would be talking to the goblins about faking paperwork; they’d be happy to comply, as he was Death’s Childe—he was Death walking on Earth, essentially. Ade sent an echo of amusement, pointing out their eyes were silver, not green. 

Harry ignored them.

“Remember, in public, for now at least, I am master Halcyone. Speak to no one. Tell no one anything.”

Crysantha bows. “I will do as master says.”

Harry nods, and sighs. He couldn’t do a glamor currently, it was delicate magic. He needs a wand. “Take me to Gringotts, Crysantha.” He commanded, and felt her delicate hand on his, before they were whisked away.

They reappeared on the marble steps of the bank. Halcyone—Harry—didn’t pause to read the inscription on the doors as he strode into the bank confidently. Before he took the aging potion, he wore slightly oversized robes, and they fit him well enough, for now at least. He walked up to the goblin on the podium, which had a chair that looked suspiciously like a throne behind it. He bowed to the goblin. “May your enemies quiver beneath your axe.”

Ragnok smiles knowingly, but bows. “And may your enemies' blood run like a river. I presume you are here for our appointment.”

Harry inclines his head, a small smile dancing on his lips before he replaces it with a carefully black expression, locking emotions away behind an Occlumency shield, “Indeed.”

The Head Goblin stands, and walks towards the back of the bank. He opens the door to his office, and Harry steps inside, his persona melting away like ice in the summer. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Ragnok. I know it may be a bit unorthodox.” The 653-year-old sits down in the chair facing the King of the Goblin Nation, “However, I would like to perform an Inheritance test, so you may see my words are as true as the gold I have.”

Ragnok nods, “That would be best, Heir Potter.” He rummages through his desk drawer for a few minutes, and then pulls out a sharp-looking dagger, a roll of parchment, and a quill and ink. Harry raises an eyebrow at the quill and ink, “In case I need to send out special orders.” The goblin explains, and then gestures towards the dagger. “Go on, Heir Potter.”

He shrugs, grabbing the dagger, and pricks his finger, wincing, “Three drops?” He asks, carefully keeping his blood off the parchment.

“Seven drops.”

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Harry squeezes his finger a bit, careful. Six. Seven.   
  
The parchment lights up with red light, and his blood is absorbed. Soon enough, the parchment begins to write. 

_ Birth name: Hadrian James Potter _

_ Birth date: July 31st, 1980 _

_ Body Age: 10 _

_ Changed name: N/A _

_ Personas: Halcyone Saul Reeves, Boy-Who-Lived _

Harry raises an eyebrow at that. It listed his personas as well? That was very odd; maybe that was the difference between three drops and seven drops of blood? Perhaps there were other differences as well.

_ Father of body: James Fleamont Potter _

_ Mother of body: Lilian Alexandria Potter neé Evans _

_ Father of soul-shard: Tom Abel Riddle, Snr. _

_ Mother of soul-shard: Merope Medusa Riddle neé Gaunt _

_ Father of main soul: u̷̧̯̠͈̜̥̖͔̹̍̉̅̊͋̔̅͝ṉ̵̩͕͑̂̋͒̑̚k̴̡̛̦̖͓͕̻̈́͂̎̃̔̓ņ̶̢̗̮̭̼̣̎ǫ̷̟̰͎̋w̴̼͚̟̑̐̈̈́̕͠n̷̗̳̜̤̫̉̇̈́̆̓ _

_ Mother of main soul: none _

Ade hums, in the back of his mind, like the touch of snow, or silk. ‘ _ Well well, it looks like Gringotts can’t list the names of cosmic deities.’ _ They sound rather smug, making Harry raise his head. ‘ _ Continue reading; you’ll figure it out eventually.’ _ He sighs, sending back a small message,  _ ‘Yes, well, thank you for giving me my soul. I know where I got my smugness from.’ _

_ Current Lordships: None _

_ Available Lordships: Lord Potter, Lord Black, Lord Peverell, Lord Gryffindor, Lord Slytherin (right of conquest), Lord Hufflepuff.  _ _ All can be accessed at 17.  _ _ Emancipated, can claim Lord Potter and Lord Black. Lord Peverell, Lord Gryffindor, Lord Slytherin, and Lord Hufflepuff must wait until Hadrian is 17 years of age _

_ Available Heirships: Heir Potter, Heir Black, Heir Peverell, Heir Gryffindor, Heir Slytherin (right of conquest), Heir Hufflepuff. Heirships may be given at 11, or onwards. _

_ Titles: Master of Death, Magic’s Chosen Champion, Time Runner, Boy-Who-Lived (Wizard-given title), He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s Killer (Wizard-given title), the Chosen One (Wizard-given title), Goblin friend (Goblin-given title), Avalon’s finder (Magic-given title), Pack Friend (Werewolf-given title; assigned by the council of elders) _

_ Vaults owned: 687 (Hadrian James Potter’s trust fund), 632 (Potter Family Vault), 342 (Black Family Vault), 122 (Peverell Family Vault), 114 (Gryffindor Family Vault), 113 (Hufflepuff Family Vault), 110 (Slytherin Family Vault), 2 (Necromancer’s Vault), 1 (Master of Death Vault) _

_ Number of galleons in all vaults: 14,679,654,014 _

_ Properties owned (total): 43 _

_ Magic core size: Gargantuan _

_ Magic affinity: Neutral-Dark _

_ Magical gifts: Born Necromancer, Beast Tamer, Magic’s Chosen Champion, Immortal, Parseltongue  _

_ Blocks, Compulsions, and Potions: _

_ Blocked Parseltoungue, cast by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore [Cast 1981, recast every year] _

_ Blocked Occlumency, cast by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore [Cast 1981, never recast] _

_ Blocked Legilimency, cast by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore [Cast 1981, never recast] _

_ Dark magic block, cast by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore [Cast 1981, never recast] _

_ Blocked Necromantic powers, cast by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore [Cast 1981, never recast] _

_ Blocked Inheritance, blocked by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore [Cast 1981, never unblocked] _ __

_ Loyalty potion, administered by Petunia Elanor Dursley neé Evans, brewed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, keyed to Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore _

_ Love potion, administered by Petunia Elanor Dursley neé Evans, brewed by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dubbledore, keyed to Ginevra Molly Weasley (amoreffundi) _

_ Never question the Light compulsions, spelled by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore _

_ All have been broken by u̷̧̯̠͈̜̥̖͔̹̍̉̅̊͋̔̅͝ṉ̵̩͕͑̂̋͒̑̚k̴̡̛̦̖͓͕̻̈́͂̎̃̔̓ņ̶̢̗̮̭̼̣̎ǫ̷̟̰͎̋w̴̼͚̟̑̐̈̈́̕͠n̷̗̳̜̤̫̉̇̈́̆̓. _

Harry hummed. “I was drugged and compelled up to the gills.” He said, his eyes sliding down the rest of the parchment. It was mainly just his family tree, 7 generations back. He handed it to Ragnok, for the goblin to look over.

It took a few minutes, but eventually the goblin twitched, and looked up at Harry, resigned. “I don’t suppose you have your key?” He asked, resigned, making the other laugh.

“No, I don’t. The normal 5 galleons for each key that I lost? And also a guarantee that the keys that were issued before don’t work..”

Ragnok nods. “Of course.” The goblin seems offended that Harry would assume otherwise, “In addition, we’ve come up with a way to link bags to vaults, and for them to only draw coins from said vaults. It’s one-way, and only accessible by the person who owns the vaults. There can be separate bags for each vault, or one big bag for all of the vaults.”

“I’d like one bag for the Potter trust fund, and one bigger bag with all the vault—minus the trust fund—attached.”

Ragnok nods, writing on a piece of parchment. It folds itself into a coin, and then zooms off. “While we are waiting for that, would you like to unseal your parents' wills?”

“Not yet.”

“Of course.” Ragnok looked briefly puzzled, but schools his face back to business, and nods. “What about retrieving any items while you’re here? We can mail them, but it will be for a fee.”

“I’ll take the fee, as otherwise my persona may be blown too soon.” 

A knock sounded at the door, and Ragnok smiles, a fierce smile. Harry straightens into his persona, turning to look coldly at whoever entered. “Come in, Bloodtoe.” A shorter, smaller, younger goblin comes in, two bags in his hands. “Leave them there.” Ragnok pointed in front of Halcyone, and the goblin places them there. “Good. Leave us.” He pauses to allow him to exit, and Halcyone feels the privacy wards spring back. “Last piece of business from the bank to you..do you want to take up any of your Heirships? You can take the Black and Potter Lordships, but none of the others. You can get your other Heirships in order, however, for now..”

“Potter Heirship only for now, please. Having a Lordship ring would raise some uncomfortable questions.”

Ragnok nods, and stands. He walks to a cubby in the wall, and does something—from his vantage point, Harry can’t quite see what he’s doing—

—and then the goblin sits down again, holding a dark red box. He hands it to the Potter Heir, who opens it eagerly. Inside of the box is a delicate-looking ring, with two golden bands that curl snugly around a large circular ruby. Set into the gold bands is what seems to be dozens of tiny diamonds, making it gleam as the (albeit limited) light shines through each cut gem. The only place left untouched by diamonds on the bands is a small place below the ruby, in which rests the Potter family motto:  _ Sol ille arbitrium semper ascendo adversus ille tenebræ _ —The sun will always rise against the Darkness. Behind the ruby, inscribed in the silvery-gold of the ring lays the Potter crest—two griffins, rearing up, with silver inlining them. Harry slides it onto his right ring finger, and a warm, almost golden feeling wraps him up. He smiles, and Ragnok nods. “Magic accepts your claim on his house’s Heirship. Now, is there any business that you have with the bank?”

Harry takes a few more moments, basking in the family’s magic. He blinks out of it, after realizing that Ragnok said something. “Y..yes, I do.” He shakes his head, getting rid of the amber-like magic coating his every thought, slowing him and his reactions considerably. “I’d like for you to take 1,000 galleons out of each of my vaults, and invest them wisely.” He squints, trying to remember anything that might be worth investing in. “Maybe invest in the people who are going to make Firebolts?”

Ragnok nods, scribbling that down on a piece of parchment. “Any other specific requests?” He asks, his onyx eyes glittering into Harry’s very soul.

“No, I believe that you know best for our investments. After all, you only want to increase gold, not decrease it.”

At his statement, the goblin grinned, sharklike. “Indeed. Currently, this Gringotts is only the second-most valuable, but we’ll beat the American branch eventually.”

Harry nods. “I believe that’s all, correct?”

Ragnok nods. “Yes. Now, to activate the bags, allow your blood to drip on this sliver seal..”

**⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝**

Halcyone walks out of Gringotts, knowing that whispers are following him. He adjusts his robes, sharp green eyes scanning the crowd around him. “Chrysantha,” He calls, softly, and the elf pops in. “Take me to Twilfitt and Tattings, but lead me there, like I know where I’m going,” He adds, and the House Elf nods. She leads him through Diagon, towards the South Side of the Alley. They stop in front of an ornate-looking building, built from red brick, and singled with black. A sign swings in the wind, and Halcyone is ushered inside by his house elf.

Inside is a larger area than Harry would’ve thought possible. There’s a huge hallway, with dozens of doors leading to different individualized rooms. At the end of the hallway seems to be a wide open space, filled with different cuts of robes, and, from Harry’s vantage point, fabrics. Chrysantha pops off as an older woman comes in. 

Her hair is still mostly brown, but gray is beginning to appear, streaking through. Her hair is twisted back into a bun, oddly resemblant of McGonagall, and she has brown eyes, with specks of gold scattered through like embers. “I am Madame Fontaine, and I will be your seamstress for the afternoon.” Her voice has an accent that takes Halcyone a moment to place, before he realizes that it’s French.

“It is good to meet you, Madame Fontaine,” He says, sweeping his hand up into a kiss on the back of it, “Énchante,” he murmurs, a smile on his face. 

She twitches her mouth into a small smile, before ushering him to a room. As he looks on the plaque on the door, it says  _ Complete wardrobe overhaul _ . He looks around the room, and with dawning horror, realizes that he might be here for hours..better make that lunch a dinner.

**…:...:...**

In the end, clothes shopping took three hours, as they went through the  _ many  _ different cuts for robes, and colors, and that was  _ after _ he got measured in everything. He was assured silence, that they would be mailed later that week, then was ushered out. 

Chrysantha pops in, and smiles at him. “Is master Halcyone ready for the final business of the day?”

He nods. “Take me to them, please.” She nods, and grabs his finger, popping off.

When they reappear, they’re standing in front of a dark brick building. A dark wooden sign above the door proclaims it to be Sawyer and Carvers, just as Crysantha said. She bows. “Call me when you are finished, master. It is improper for elves and other people to be in the room when you choose materials for your wand.” And she pops off, leaving Harry standing alone in front of the shop. No one else was around, making him slightly nervous.

He looks in the windows, and sees dozens of types of wands, made from what seems to be hundreds of different woods. A small sign is in the corner of the window, and Harry leans closer to investigate it.

_ Wand woods! _ _   
_ _ Acacia to Yew! _

_ Wand cores! _

_ Phoenix feathers, unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings! _

_ From boggart skin to Veela hair! _

_ Staffs, dragonhide holsters, and so much more! _

He takes a deep breath and steps inside.


	3. chapter two; holly and fire {year one summer part two}

**chapter two: holly and fire (year 1: summer part 2)**

_ He looks in the windows, and sees dozens of types of wands, made from what seems to be hundreds of different woods. A small sign is in the corner of the window, and Harry leans closer to investigate it. _

_ Wand woods! _

_ Acacia to Yew! _

_ Wand cores! _

_ Phoenix feathers, unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings! _

_ From boggart skin to Veela hair! _

_ Staffs, dragonhide holsters, and so much more! _

_ He takes a deep breath and steps inside. _

The inside of the store was made with stone. It was a lighter stone; not quite marble but not quite the gray of the cobblestones outside. It wasn’t white, but it wasn’t gray; not eggshell, nor the color of freshly washed white linen. It was an in between color; an impossibility.

But it exists here.

Harry steps inside, ignoring the bell tinkling, and looks around. No wood flooring, walls, or furniture in sight. The “wandshelves''—called this for the wandwood, wand cores, or finished wands that they held—were also made of stone. However, it was different colors; on the “shelves'’ where the ebony wood samples rested seemed to be marble, and where the holly wood rested it was an onyx-colored stone. Harry could make a guess that this was to cancel out any wand and core properties, to neutralize them until they selected a wizard. This would help to make sure that the reaction was not only more obvious, but also so that no accidents would occur, similar to when you chucked in random ingredients into a cauldron.

A large man—close to 7 feet tall, but very fit—walked out from the back room. He was balding, and had an eyepatch over his left eye, “Hey’a. I’m Carva’, staff or wand?” He asked, his gruff voice and odd accent (almost like—New York?) awakening Harry from looking around. 

His viridian eyes blink, and he focuses on the man in front of him. “Wand only, for now.” 

Carver nods, and comes closer, “Let me measure you, then we can get to testing your wand wood.”

“Alright.” 

The other man moves closer, towering over Harry even with his aging potion, “Try not to do any magic in here; we’ve followed Ministry protocol, unlike that  _ fool _ Ollivander—” He pauses, a pinch in his expression,“Left arm or right arm?”

“I’m ambidextrous,” — _ and wasn’t  _ that _ a nice trick he picked up from Avalon-based training? _ — “But I prefer my right arm.”

He begins to measure both of Harry’s arms, and then nods for him to go ahead, “That’s all we need for wands. If you were doing a staff, it would’ve been more extensive. Now, start over here,” Carver directs him towards a shelf labeled  _ Acacia—Black Ironwood _ , “And grab any that feel warm to your magic. All you have to do is gather some of your magic into your hand—good, like that—and then go over the woods only. There should be three or four that’s warm, so bring them over to the counter, and ring the bell once you’re finished. Some of the cores can be a bit a bit more volatile.”

Harry blinks, confused, “But shouldn’t I only need one?”

Carver nods, “Naturally. However, some cores are incompatible with some woods, so we prefer to get many woods, so we can match together the cores and woods.”

Harry sighs, and begins to gently go over the different woods. Almost immediately he gets a warm feeling; a wood with darker gray bark. He gently carries it over to the counter, and Carver nods, “Beech. You must be wise beyond your years.” His words causes the other to stifle a snort, because the wandmaker really has  _ no idea _ . He continues to go over the first shelf, but doesn’t get any more of the pleasant feeling.

Over the next half an hour or so, Harry gets a few more hits; elm, fir, and maple. The strongest reaction to his magic, however, was to a cypress wood, and was noted by Carver. He refused to say anything about it, which Harry reluctantly accepted.

Carver walked over to the wand cores and unlocked the various containers, taking the lids off them. “You should only have one core that your magic reacts to here. Maybe two, but that’s rare.”

Harry sighs, but begins to feel them. Again, he immediately gets a hit—right away. Carver raises an eyebrow. “Acromantula web. My my, aren’t you illegal. Keep going, just to make sure that there isn’t another core.” A few cores down, Harry stops, again having a warmer feeling. He frowns looking down on it; it looked like a scrap of old parchment. The wandmaker bustles over, picking it up. “Ah, boggart skin.”

Carver walks back over to the counter, and gently grabs the elm and fir wood, placing them under the counter. “Now, there’s a few styles that work with a dual-core wand, and those are further limited by which wand you choose. Elm can handle both cores—both can—but elm doesn’t do well with boggart skin, and fir will burn through the cores. Therefore, we’re down to maple and cypress. I’d personally recommend cypress wood; it’s strong, and hardy, and will mesh well with the chosen cores.”

Harry smiles. “I bow to your wisdom.”

“Now, the style of wands we’re looking at for cypress wands and these cores..there’s only two I’m willing to do. Either I set in a crystal at the end, augmenting the wood’s strengths, or I create a wand that augments the cores. In addition, I’ll insert a rune, shielding the acromantula web from being detected by spells and devices.”

Harry nods, inclining his head, “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like the non-crystal version of the wand.”

Carver grins. “Alright. It’ll be 13 galleons in all, 8 for the materials, and 5 for the work.”

He pulls out the coins, handing them over. “How much for a holster as well?”

“Dragonhide, basilisk skin, or runespoor scales?”

“Basilisk skin, if you have it.”

“Yes, we do, but it’ll be expensive.”

“How much?” Harry asks, tugging out more galleons.

Carver considers, tugging at his graying mustache. “67 galleons.”

The ravenette winces, but pulls out 67 galleons.  _ Well, this probably won’t even make a dent in my vaults. _ Carver accepts them with a nod, “Thank you. Imma git started on these right away. When I finish ‘em, where should I send ‘em?”

Harry smirks, “Potter Manor. If you stay quiet about it, there’s another 20 galleons in it for you.” And then he walks out, green eyes shining, “Chrysantha!” He calls, and the Head Elf pops in. “Take me to Alvis’ Barn, please.”

**…:...:...**

Over the next few weeks, Harry made more trips out into Diagon as Halcyone, mainly to get history books. He wasn’t sure if anything was different here...it wasn’t  _ his _ world (his was 23673, this world was 23671--at least, according to Ade, who was relaying this because Taika didn’t have a mental connection to him). His wand was completed a week later, and as such, he got both the holster and the wand. 

It was a mixed grain, caught between a washed-out sandy color, and a darker, richer brown. The style itself was very nice—it was a mostly smooth wand, except for a raised portion, where a snake was curled around it, ending with it biting the hilt of the wand. It’s neck lifted off the hilt just enough for Harry to slip his fingers through; it would help him to keep his hands on it during a duel.

The holster was a blue-gray, with darker blue stripes running through it. His wand fit snugly, and it seemed to be vibrating ever-so-slightly. The reason that he had chosen basilisk skin over runespoor ( _ despite runespoors being ever-so-slightly more hardy and available _ ) was because basilisks, much like manticores, were immune to most lower level-spells—such as  _ Stupefy _ —and a few actually got reflected off their scales. As such, it was worth the extra 40 or so galleons—in addition, wards were sung into it, making it impervious to the wand being taken from the holster itself.

In other words, it was _ fucking badass. _

However, July 31st was creeping closer and closer. The days flew by as he continued to renew alliances, spending hours just writing letters back and forth to various Light families. He also started to make ties with the Neutral-Light families. It was good to renew these, and he could feel the familial magic hum contentedly as old bonds were reforged and new bonds were made. While he may not be able to keep them forever, however long he did have them for would be useful to his goals.

One day, he was idly paging through the Potter family grimoire—a book that was passed down from father to son (or daughter, in some cases) for generations, holding both family secrets and family spells and potions recipes—and occasionally trying out spells. A pecking at the window made him look up, meeting the eyes of a nondescript barn owl. A sudden compulsion to only follow the Light, and to not question Albus Dumbledore washed over him, making him blink.  _ ‘Ade?’ _ He asked, trying to battle the compulsions, but not succeeding all that well. Whoever put them there was strong.

_ ‘Give me a second, Childe..’ _ A sudden pressure, and then they disappeared.  _ ‘There. Now, who sent it?’ _

Harry walks over to the owl, and gently takes the letter from it. It hoots at him, but doesn’t fly off. “Waiting for a reply, huh?” He murmurs quietly. On the envelope, he sees it’s addressed to Harry Potter, not Halcyone Reeves, as the alliance information was. “Alright.”

_ Mr. H. Potter _

_ The Master Rooms,  _

_ Potter Manor, South Hampton _

A slow smile crosses his face as he realizes who this letter is from.  _ And so the game begins.. _ He thinks, blinking.  _ ‘It’s my Hogwarts Letter, Ade.’ _ He pauses, cocking his head to the side.  _ ‘How would you feel about playing Halcyone as we get my school supplies?’ _

A barely suppressed groan from the other side of the link.  _ ‘Will this be an every year thing?’ _

_ ‘Just until Halcyone suffers an accident, I promise. Or is “killed” by Death Eaters.’ _

_ ‘And what do I get out of this?’ _

_ ‘Hmm… you said you liked chocolate covered cherries, right?’ _

_ ‘Yes…’ _

_ ‘I’ll get you half a kilo of those.’ _

_ ‘Every year..? _

_ ’ _

_ ‘Fine.’ _

_ ‘Deal!’ _

Harry shakes his head, eternally amused as he walks over to the master desk, sitting down in the Lord’s seat. Harry opens his letter with the Potter letter opener, causing any other compulsions to sink into the interwoven magic and dissipate. He gently tugs it out, not wanting to damage the parchment. 

_ HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_ Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin: First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards _

_ Dear Mr. Potter,  _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at _

_ Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list _

_ of all necessary books and equipment. _

_ Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July _

_ 31. _

_ Yours sincerely, _

_ Minerva McGonagall, _

_ Deputy Headmistress _

Harry snorts. Cutting it a bit close, aren’t they? Nevertheless, he takes out a piece of parchment from underneath the desk, and grabs a pot of ink and a quill.  _ I am glad _ , he writes,  _ to be accepted into such a fine and proud establishment. I accept the invitation, and I will see you on September 1st _ . 

It takes a few tries, but his calligraphy skills are straightened up soon enough.He smiles, happy and then signs his name. He puts it into an envelope, and seals it with wax, pressing the Potter Heir ring into the rapidly cooling wax. He attaches it to the owl’s leg, and watches as it flies off, before turning back to the rest of the Hogwarts letter. 

_ HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY _

_ Uniform _

_ First-year students shall require the following: _

  * _Three sets of plain work robes {black}_


  * One plain pointed hat {black} for day wear


  * One pair of protective gloves {dragonhide or similar} for protective wear


  * One winter cloak {black, silver fastenings}



_ Please note that all pupils clothes’ should contain name tags! _

Harry snorts again. He wasn’t going to be as snobbish as Malfoy, but he was getting a better uniform than that, and some weekend robes.

_ Course books _

_ All students should have a copy of the following: _

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade One) _ , by Miranda Goshawk _

A History of Magic, _ by Bathilda Bagshot _

Magical Theory _ , by Adalbert Waffling _

A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration _ , by Emeric Switch _

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _ , by Phyllida Spore _

Magical Draughts and Potions _ , by Arsenius Jigger _

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ , by Newt Scamander _

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _ , by Quentin Trimble _

Another dramatic sigh.  _ Quirrel, again? _ Harry sighs, vaguely remembering a strong smell of garlic, and a horrible fake stutter. It had been a few hundred years at this point, so he’d pull out some memories, to rewatch the important events. Of course, things were probably different; the compulsions and the  _ Amordi _ showed.

_ Other Equipment _

_ 1 wand _

_ 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) _

_ 1 set glass or crystal phials _

_ 1 telescope _

_ 1 set brass scales _

_ Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad _

_ PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT _

_ ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS _

Harry sits back, satisfied that everything was the same. He pushed the Hogwarts letter to the side, and began to wonder how he should play this. Since Dumbledore had  _ obviously _ seen the letter to him—the compulsions attached to the owl—he couldn play the naive, foolish child; that was the only reason that he had sealed the response with his Heir ring. 

He instantly becomes alert as he feels someone moving inside of the wards, his wand falling into his hands. The only person who knows where this is is Dumbledore, or...

_ ‘Harry, darling,’  _ He hears, echoed from a mirror and inside his head,  _ ‘Could you stop the wards from shoving me back into this mirror? It’s really rather rude…’ _

Harry huffs, and bends the wards. Ade steps through the mirror, their usual gray and black persona gone, replaced by the glamors that Harry had decided that Halcyone was going to wear. Their eyes—normally silver—were now a deep, dark blue; they had golden-brown hair, rather than black (though it was still untamable), and they had a large scar, running from the bottom of their eye to the base of their throat. The height Harry hadn changed from his future self; the only way to do that was through a long, complicated  _ permanent _ borderline-Dark ritual. Of course, he had no issue with the borderline-Dark bit; only the permanence of it.

“I do not like this form, so let’s hurry. I’m also not supposed to stay in this realm for more than a day; it causes issues.”

Harry cocks his head at his acquaintance, not liking how he has to look up at them. “What kind of issues?”

“Well...the Sahara desert was because I stayed a few hours more…”

“You caused the Sahara.”   
  


Ade actually looks sheepish. “Y...yes? It wasn’t on purpose..!” 

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.  _ Death was whining at him _ . What had the universe come to? After a few more moments, Harry exhales a sigh, dragging a critical eye over him.

“What?” They ask, raising an eyebrow at Harry. “These are my normal robes! They’re perfectly fine…”

“Not for Halcyone they aren’t.” 

**…:...:...**

After a few minutes of negotiating clothing options, Ade holds out his hand to Harry. “Come on, I have to Apparate you, otherwise it’ll be suspicious.”

Harry pouts, but accepts the hand nonetheless. With a sharp crack, they Disapparate, Harry being dragged behind. They reappear in the brightness of Diagon Alley, and Harry takes a moment to reorientate himself. He checks himself over, to see if he’d been Splinched, but to his relief it looks like he’s fine. Ade—currently Halcyone—huffs. “I  _ am _ good enough at Apparating, you know. Now, c’mon. School uniform first.”

Harry follows, walking into Madam Malkin’s. Draco is there, with his father, whining about not getting his robes done  _ right away _ . Draco’s eyes lock onto his robes, and how  _ expensive _ they looked (really he’d just shrunk down one of his Halcyone robes). The other boy’s eyes lock onto his, and the blonde smiles, putting his hand out. “Draco Malfoy, Heir of House Malfoy.”

Harry takes the hand with a shy smile. “Harry Potter, Heir of House Potter. It’s good to meet you, Heir Malfoy.”

Malfoy senior straightens, his platinum eyes boring down on Harry’s. The boy ignores him, electing to continue to talk to Draco. “What House are you looking for? Halcyone here says that I’ll go into Ravenclaw, but I’m pretty sure I’ll go into Slytherin.” This was actually a running bet between them; Ade had a mini-favor on him going to Ravenclaw, Taika bet a book that Harry hadn’t read before that he’d go to Hufflepuff, and Harry had half a dozen chocolate-covered cherries alongside a baker’s dozen of salted caramel on Slytherin.

Draco sniffs. “As if a Malfoy would go anywhere besides Slytherin!” The blonde criticizes Harry, mercury eyes narrowing as he thought about this  _ very serious _ question. 

As they continue to talk, Harry manages to steer the conversation gently towards Dumbledore. He expresses his disgust at being left with “those filthy Muggles” and Draco jumped on it, thoroughly trouncing Muggles. Lord Malfoy relaxes, realizing that Harry is—vaguely—on the Dark side. Eventually, they get their robes, and Harry promises to talk to Draco again soon. He learned many things; Draco’s favorite Quidditch team (Falmouth Falcons), his favorite dessert (he pretends it’s chocolate and creme filled eclairs, or some other such high nobility treat, but his guilty pleasure is bread and butter pudding). 

But most of all, he learns that Lucius Malfoy would do anything, even give up every he holds dear—all to protect Draco.

And Draco doesn’t even realize it.

**...:...:...**

After they had gotten everything else, Ade getting antsier and antsier as the hours pass. Harry goes back to Twilfitt and Tattings to more non-uniform school robes, which would—again—be finished in just a week or so. 

Finally, the final thing on his school list was a wand. It was time to go to Ollivanders; he wanted one wand without the Trace, which he had removed from his other wand. They enter the dusty old shop, a bell tinkling throughout the store; a hollow sound. Ade coughs slightly; he looks around nervously.  _ ‘I’m scared that the Elder Wand will get jealous if I stay here too long. I’ll just...wait outside.’ _ And so Death slips out the door, making Harry roll his eyes with a sigh.

Soon enough, an older man pops up, from behind the counter. He has silvery hair, a shade slightly lighter than his eyes. Harry shivers; he’d forgotten just how  _ creepy _ Ollivander was. “Hello there, Heir Potter.” He rasps, straightening. “I’d thought that I would see you soon.”

He smiles at Ollivander, tightly. “It is good to see you as well, Lord Ollivander. Have the wands been behaving recently?”

Ollivander huffs a laugh. “Yes.” He turns, and begins to search the shelves. “You already know what wand you have, don’t you?”

“Perhaps. How do you know?”

“Your...companion, he was oddly powerful. And rushed out in a hurry. I’ve only ever felt that in the presence of Magic herself, so you must be blessed…”

“My wand is holly wood, 11” long, and carries a phoenix feather core.” He speaks quickly, wanting to get away from that particular line of conversation. He feels the lingering stare of Ollivander, even after the wandmaker turned away to grab one of the boxes.

“Try it. You may have changed.” 

Harry takes the proffered wand, and swishes it. It lights on fire, faster than Harry can pull his hand away, but the flames don’t burn him. Instead, they seem to lick at his skin, erasing invisible aches that he didn’t even know that he had. In the end, instead of his beautifully detailed, shiny, sleek holly wand, he’s left with a handful of ashes and a warm to the touch orange feather in his hand.

“Hm. Interesting. Follow me, we need to select a wood for you. And don’t drop the ashes, please; I’ll reinsert them, to give the restorative properties of the phoenix feather a boost.”

And so Harry follows Ollivander into the back room, where he really can’t help but to feel like fate is crashing in on him at an alarming rate.

**…:...:...**

It takes a while, and multiple run-throughs with the feather, but the wood that it chooses is ebony. Ollivander doesn’t have to tell him what it means. Impressive visuals; great with transforming things ( and people ) and duelling. 

It’s more commonly known as a Dark wood.

“Don’t tell Dumbledore. Please, don’t tell Dumbledore,” Harry says, getting alarmingly close to begging.

“I am sworn to secrecy on all wands, Heir Potter.”

He lets himself slump with feigned relief. Inside, he begins to carefully calculate how to manipulate the situation. 


End file.
